“I’m almost finished, despite this stupid balloon getting in the way.”
“Can I see?” she uttered with licorice lips.
He didn’t answer directly; kept working. “I… couldn’t get the hair quite right.”
Sepisexton thought: she doesn’t have any hair. But kept her mouth shut. She’d already been scolded several times for changing her position. There were six in the chair, and she got rigid if she used any one too long. Why were there 6 if she couldn’t move about a little? Plus this was a cubist work. Wasn’t he suppose to look all the way around her? I am Carrcassonnee reborn, she thought here. The “I”. The 7th has every right for the 6 to do her bidding. They were the surfaces of her being, as she sat here being painted. She dared to switch again.
“Awww, Carrcassonnee,” he complained.
Ah ha! she thought. He really and truly knows who I am now (!).
He showed her the finished project. So much blurring, she noted, but she supposed that was her own fault for being so darn multidimensional.